


catch me (i'm falling)

by wewriteletters



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Depression, Hanging, Hurt No Comfort, I'm so sorry but am I?, Other, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewriteletters/pseuds/wewriteletters
Summary: Malcolm had always been interested in suicide.For Whumptober 2020 Day One: Let's Hang Out Sometime (Hanging)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949848
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	catch me (i'm falling)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Guess who is working 45 hours a week and still is going to torture, I mean challenge, herself to do a fic for at least every other day. And what a way to start it out. I wrote this in about an hour and a half so it's not my best work, but I've never written a MCD fic before and I wanted to see how I did. Please pay attention to the warnings. Hope you enjoy (as much as you can "enjoy" something like this).

Malcolm had always been interested in suicide. 

From a psychological standpoint of course. What could drive someone to commit the act? Why was the subject so simultaneously taboo and alluring? Who could do something like that. 

But nowadays, it felt like Malcolm had a vested interest in suicide. It felt like the word was everywhere, hanging over his life like a fog.

“Call me if you experience any suicidal thoughts,” Gabrielle had told him as she wrote down a prescription for another new medication. “They’re a common side effect of this drug.”

“Have you ever attempted to take your own life?” The new therapist he was saying at school asked him, as casually as if she were asking about the weather. 

“Suicide is for cowards,” his mother had grumbled at the last family dinner he had attended. They had just heard that a patient at Claremont had killed themselves on the news. “But if your father were to consider it…”

And then there were Malcolm’s own thoughts. Thoughts he had for a long time, but always tried to ignore. 

He was broken, stupid, useless.

Who could ever love someone like him?

He’d be better off dead.

Malcolm didn’t tell Gabrielle or his new therapist or his mother about these thoughts. He’d already attempted once in eighth grade and he knew how each one would react if he tried again. 

So why had he bought a rope on his way back to his apartment from class? And why was it draped over a beam in his bedroom? And why was he sitting on his bed, tying it into a noose?

Hanging was the best method to guarantee one actually died, short of shooting yourself or jumping in front of a train. Malcolm didn’t have a gun and he didn’t want other people involved in this in any way. He needed to be alone, or he’d freak out and stop at the last second. 

Whatever part of his mind that was still sane was already begging him to stop. To call Gabrielle or Gil or even Ainsley. Go throw the rope in the dumpster outside, along with all his kitchen knives and belts. The mantra “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem” played over in his head.

But his problems weren’t temporary. He would always be Martin Whitly's son, even if he changed his name and moved across the world. The idea had only been cemented in his head further by the events of this morning.

He was graduating in two months and he had his first interview with Quantico. It had taken all of his mother’s connections in DC to even pull that off and the second Malcolm walked into the room, he knew he was doomed to fail. The interviewer seemed afraid to even shake his hand and he avoided eye contact the entire time. He read off the questions in a tone that was simultaneously terrified and disgusted. As if Malcolm was disgracing the FBI by even thinking of applying, but he was also too intimidating to say no to. At the end of the meeting, Malcolm knew his father was right yet again; he would always be, first and foremost, the son of a serial killer. It was stupid to think he could ever work in law enforcement, let alone as a criminal profiler. 

He had lied to everyone about how the interview went. He told Gil what a good feeling he had about it, that he was so excited to have chosen this as his career. Malcolm could feel Jackie’s beam through the phone. She was so excited to see him when he came up to visit the next weekend. 

That wouldn’t happen now. Malcolm didn’t have any kind of future, besides living off his mother’s money and never showing his face in public again. The thought of that was even worse than death. 

Malcolm stood up and pulled the rope up until the nose was several feet over the chair he had dragged in from the kitchen. It was now or never. He slowly climbed on to the chair, his entire body shaking. His brain was still screaming at him to just go to bed and deal with everything in the morning, but Malcolm pushed through it. His stupid mind was just another obstacle to overcome. 

It would be days, if not weeks, before anyone found him again. His professors would notice when he stopped coming into class and by the time anyone came to check his apartment, he’d be long gone. He hated that his family would be left wondering what happened, even for just a few hours, but at the same time he found some comfort in the fact that he was so far from home. It made the decision to leave his mother and sister and Gil and Jackie just a tiny bit easier. None of them would see him newly dead or be the one who had to cut his lifeless body from the ceiling. 

It was just better this way.

The rope was tight around his neck and Malcolm had to stand straight up for it to have any slack. Last chance to turn around. 

But he didn’t. Malcolm simply stepped off, and let himself fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
